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UNCLE TOM'S CABIN 



IN 



ENGLAND 



a pi^ 



IS TWO ACTS 



BY MARCO MINGLE. W 



yU4^ , 



RICHMOND, VA. 

GEORGE M. WEST & BRO 

1853. 



^^Lif 



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Harry Berkley. 
Mr. Wilburton. 
Mr. Tittbrwell. 
Morris Landen. 
Peter. 

Mrs. Wilburton. 
Mrs. Titterwell. 
Mary Landen. 
Minnie. 



Copj/ right secured. 



UNCLE TOM'S CABIN 

IN ENGLAND. 



ACT 1. 

LONDON. 

Scene I. — A Library adjoining Harry's apartment, table^ 
chairs, Sfc; a neivspaper laying on the table. 

Peter discovered. 

Peter. Oh dear ! O dear ! I do wonder what master would 
say if he knew I was in love ? ha, ha, ha ! But I should'nt 
laugh if I am a lover, for it's a serious thing and one should 
think on the consequences. But talking about love; how I got 
into it is a puzzler to me: Minnie looks like every other o^mans 
walks like every other o'mans, got eyes like every other, — wh-e-e, 
no-she-aint-eilher ; every o'man eyes dont look so [tries to look 
archly] and so, and make me feel just like giving her all the 
world if it was mine. Oh ! Oh! I do wonder what master would 
say if — [a call from without] Ah! there he is now, yes sir, com- 
ing. [Goes to Harry and returns in a moment.] The Morning 
Times; Ah! here it is, here it is. [Takes paper to Harry and 
returns] That will do ah ! [going] Minnie, Minnie, my — my, 
oh ? [Exit Peter. 

Enter Harry with newspaper. 

Harry. Hi I ho! here's another of those stupid dull days, 
nothing to do — no news, no change; but the club, aye, the 
club; and there its the same dull routine of chit-chat, parliament 
and politics, cards, cards, cards. And there are morning calls, 'tis 
true, and horrid bores they are. But I have it: I'll make a vir- 
tue of nece.ssity and pay my uncle Wilburton a visit I owe him. 

Good kind people but there's their cursed benevolence. 

Doubtless I will be entertained with a long lecture on the con- 
dition of the human race throughout the globe; and there too, I 
shall see that intolerable Titterwell, with his fanaticism^, grand 
schemes and glorious contemplations. But I'll go, any thing 
fer a change. 



Enter Peter. 

Peter. A letter sir. 

Harry. A letter ? Give it to me. [Takes it and reads] — - 
What ! from my old friend Morris Landen: And will be here 
to-morrow ! Can it be possible ? I had supposed him dead, not 
havingf heard from him in five long j^ears. 'Tis indeed an unex- 
pected happiness. But I'll away to my Uncle's. Peter bring 
me my hat and gloves. 

Peter. Yes sir, [hands them to him.[ 

Ha,rry. [going] I will be in at four Peter, until then you 
may go where you please. [Exit Harry. 

Peter. Well, Master is gone. Master is so good, but he aint 
like he used to be. Oh ! I do wonder what he would say if he 
knew I was in love. But Master was in love once himself and 
quarrelled with his lady love; and they do say that she treated 
him dreadfully; but I don't know any thing about that, all I do 
know, is, that he aint like he used to be. Now I'll go right off 
and see Minnie, [going] Oh Minnie, thou incomparable diviner^ 
thou — thou — Oh its no use, 1 aint sentimental. [Exit Peter, 

Scene II. — A street in a wealthy part of London. Enter 
Mary leading by the hand a little girl] they are both thinly 
clad and shivering with cold. 

Mary. Oh this is dreadful! No bread — No shelter from 
this culcl damp air. Yet God knows it is not for myself that I 
would ask this poor boon. Here where all around seems to mock 
at my misery. But only for this poor child — this pledge of a fond 
mother's misplaced confidence and affection. Oh ! God! And am 
I its protector? I who have not one bite of bread to stop its weep- 
ing; I, who taught it among the first words it could lisp, that hated 
one beg, beg, beg. Where, Oh! where shall we go? Yet 
stay ! there is some one coming. Hold out thy hand child, it 
may be one who can feel for the unfortunate. But it is. Oh God, 
it is, she of all others I would not see; she who first spurned me 
from her door, and placed the seal of infamy upon my character. 
Can I escape ? No — She may not know me. [Hides her face, 
the child continues to hold out its hand.] 

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Titterwell. 

Mrs. Tit. Oh gracious, there arc more of those disgusting 
objecis; Respectable people must always be seeing them at every 
corner they pass. Go about your business child, go to the alms 
house, let your lazy mother go to work. Oh Titterwell, when 
will we be rid of those horrid people? 

Mr. Tit. One of those days, my dear; but first the African 
■freedom, the African freedom ! Oh glorious contemplation ! 

[Exeunt Titterwells. 



Mary. Gone ! and I am spared the recogniiion — it is vveil, 
1 can suffer much and be calm, but I could not bear her sneer. 
Come child, come away from this place, come. [Moves, but 
totters.] 

Enter Harry. [Gazes at Mary.) 

Harry. Stay my good woman, you are ill, say, can I serve you? 

Mary. [Aside.] Oh! he speaks so kindly ! 

Harry. Who are you, speak, and tell me, are you ill, or 
can I aid you? 

M.ary. Oh, sir, you have feeling, I am sure, and will not wish 
to know more than that we are poor outcasts, and go I know not 
where. 

Harry. \Asi(ie\ She does not ask for aid, yet it is evident 
she wants it. \hourl\ Be frank, my poor woman, and tell me 
can I in any way serve you? 

Mary. Oh, sir, your kindness touches me, [sobbing.] I am 
not used to it, I need not tell you why these tears are flowing. — 
Look at this poor child, it has not tasted food since yesterday 
morning. 

Harry. Can it be possible 1 And yourself, have you fasted 
so long ? 

Mary. Longer, sir, much longer. 

Harry. Poor woman, then I do not wonder that you weep. 
Hero is enough for a few meals. [The child takes it and thanks 
him] Now tell me your name. 

Mary. [Hesitating.] My — my name is Mary, sir. 

Harry. But you have another name. 

Mary. Oh, sir, do not ask me to tell you more, I cannot, I 
cannot sir. 

Harry. Then I will not press thee further, but is this your 
child ? 

Mary. No sir, it is the child of a dear friend now in her 
cold grave. 

Harry. Indeed, and how comes it in your possession ? 

Mary. Circumstances, sir, made me its protector. Its his- 
tory is part of my own. 

Harry. Relate it to me, my good woman, for I already feel 
a warm interest in you and this little sufferer. 

Mary. Sir, it is a sad story. 'Tis but a few moments since 
a woman passed this place, she knew me in my happy days; I 
left my mother's quiet home to bcorne governess to her children: 
that mother is now dead; this woman I served faithfully, but I 
would not submit to her tyranny, and without forgetting my po- 
sition, resented her insults. This was a crime she could not for- 
give. I was turned from her door — She refused me a recom- 
mendation, and that was a blow to my character. I sought in 
vain for similar employment, for the tongue of slander had done 
its work. The needle was my only resort; but many hours of 



toil and few of rest brought their result. One day as I lay on a 
sick bed this child was brought to me with its mother's dying re- 
quest that I would keep it, and love it. My poor friend, how I 
loved her. Ruined and abandoned, she is now free from them ' 
all. I promised her, and God knows how faithfully I have en- 
deavored to keep that promise. Yet all my eiSbrts availed no- 
thing. Sickness and poverty soon brought us to the verge of 
starvation, from which, we were taken to the work-house. How 
Jong we remained there I know not, but it was many months. 
Two days ago we were discharged, with several others, to wan- 
der, God knows where. Some of those poor creatures who were 
turned from this, their only home, feeble and starving, have since 
returned and begged to be again admitted, but were denied, for 
they had been once discharged (*) I could not ask for such 
charity, to be refused* and thus, sir, you find us creeping from 
place to place. 

Harry. Truly, it is a sad story, and too much like what I 
have seen for me to doubt its truth. [Aside.] Oh ! ye high born 
dames who from your gorgeously trimmed halls of silk and ta- 
pestry dare preach humanity to distant nations! far fitter wire it 
that ye take the first lesson at your own doors. But this poor 
woman, she must not suffer. [Tkinks] I have it, I'll send her 
to my uncle's; in the mean time T. will be there. [Takes out a 
card, lorite'i and ha?ids it to Mary.] Here my good woman 
take this, you know the street? 

Mary. Yes sir. 

Harry. And the number? — Take it there and you will find 
a friend. Do you promise me ? 

Mary. 1 do, 1 do. Oh, kind sir ! 

Harry. No more my poor woman, but haste thee out of this 
cold wind, it makes thee shiver. [Going.] Haste thee, remem- 
ber you have promised me. [Exit Harry. 

Mary. He is gone, and I have not thanked him, but God 
will thank him, God will bless him. Come my poor child there 
is a promise of happiness in his kindly tones, come. [Going.] 
Oh! we can now buy bread ! [Exeunt Mary and child. 

Scene III. — Mr. Wilburton's — Mr. and Mrs.Wilhurton seat- 
ed at a table, Minnie is standing near. They arc all weep- 
ing^ having been reading JJncle Toin s Cabin. 

Mrs. Wil. Oh ! this is monstrous ! and all told by an Ame- 
rican lady; it is, I fear, too true. I have never despised any one, 
but I could hate that whole sinful nation. Poor creatures, can 
wo not do something for them? 

Mr. Wil. My dear, we are doing much. The whole Bri- 
tish nation is arousing to the mighty work. It will be done. 

* See Appendix, ^Jo. 1. 



Mrs. Wil. Oh, 1 do hope so, for at this very moment the 
lash of the slave driver may be tearing the flesh of thousands 
of its innocent victims. {A knock is heard, Minnie goes to the 
door, returns and announces the Titterioells.] [Exit Minnie. 

Enter the Titterwells. 

Mr. Wil. Ah ! friend Titterwell, and madam. 

Mrs. Wil. Welcome, welcome. 

Mr. Tit. Ah ! friends. [Mrs. Titterwell throws herself into 
the arms of Mrs. Wilburton — Mr. Wilburton and Mr. Titter- 
well seem to converse together.] 

Mrs. Tit. Oh ! my dear Mrs. Wilburton : You have read 
Uncle Tom — I know you have — your eyes are red with weep- 
ing. [They loipe their eyes ] 

Mrs. Wil. Yes, yes, we have just finished reading- it. It is 
horrible; do you think, my dear Mrs. Titterwell, that it can be 
true ? 

Mrs. Tit. True! It is every word true; you may depend on 
it, my dear Mrs. Wilburton; and every body knows that it is 
worse than this book represents it; for do you think those wicked 
people would tell all their cruelties ? Oh no ! And only to think 
that we christianized and civilized English as we are, should per- 
mit such doings. It is horrible. 

Mrs. Wil. Oh, how I pity them. 

Mrs. Ti-. And I, my dear Mrs. Wilburton, my sensitive soul 
always sympathises with the unfortunate. [Seems to weep.] 

Mr. Tit. [Advancing with book i?i hand.] My friends, I 
congratulate you upon the great and important service rendered 
our cause by the authoress of this book. It is, indeed, cheering. 
Oh, glorious contemplation. 

Enter Minnie, and announces Harry. 

Enter Harry. 

Harry. [Aside to Minnie.] Minnie, my good girl, you will 
do me a service. A poor woman and a child will be here in a 
few moments; show them to a comfortable room, until I see your 
mistress. I will reward thee well. 

Minnie. Yes, sir, I'll do it. [Exit Minnie. 

Mr. Wil. Ah, Harry. 

Mrs. Wil. Harry. 

Harry. My dear aunt and uncle. [Aside.] Just as I ex- 
pected, there's that infernal Titterwell. [Loud.] Mr. Titterwell 
and madam, good morning to you all. Dear aunt how — But 
you are weeping — and madam — my uncle, all in tears ! What 
does this mean? 

Mrs. Tit. [Still sobbing.] Oh, sir, have you not read Uncle 
Tom's Cabin ? 

Harry. What! the American novel? 



8 

Mrs! mi \ Tile same; the same. 

Harry. [Aside.] Can it be possible they are weeping over 
this book ? [Loud.] Read it ! I have, and threw it aside, cursing 
myself for the time I had spent at it. 

Mrs. Tit. ) 

Mrs. Wil} Oh I Oh! Oh! 

Mr. Tit. ) 

Harry. Truly, this is a laughable scene. [Laughs.] Ha !' 
ha! ha! 

Mrs. Tit. Oh ! horrible, horrible. 

Mrs. WiZ. Oh! Harry, you have none of the feelings of your 
poor dear mother, or you would weep over the sufferings of poor 
uncle Tom. 

Harry. [Laughs.] Ha ! ha ! ha 1 

Mrs. Tit. You have no heart, Mr. Berkley, you are a stoic, 
sir. 

Harry. Stoic. Ha! ha! that's just what I should take you 
all to be, stoics ! [Stowe-ics,] ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Mr. Wil. [Austerely.] Harry, this is no jesting matter, sir. 

Harry. [Seriously ] No jesting matter ! Then, sir, 1 am 
pleased to hear it, for truly, if this woman has taught the English 
people to weep over the imaginary wrongs of an old black man, 
then there is indeed some hope for the suffering thousands at our 
own doors. 

Mr. Tit. Mr. Berkley you have not an English heart, sir, or 
you could weep over the cruelties this book exposes. 

Harry. Weep! Sir I have no weeping imasiination, and 
were I disposed to weep, God knows I could find enough of re* 
ality to weep over. No, sir! the tears of manhood never course 
ed my cheeks but once; then I read the "Song of the Shirt," — 
that was purely English, and I knew it to be true. I should 
weep over this book, think you ? Sir, it will be when I forget the 
countless numbers of paupers we have on our own island, and 
the thousands who struggle in darkness and misery to shun the 
name. They weep, but not as you weep. Were the tears they 
shed in a few short years collected together — tears of misery and 
distress — enough might be had to float the Queen's barge. 

Mr. Wil. ) 

Mrs. Tit. V Horrible, oh ! oh! 

Mr. Tit. 3 

Mrs. Wil. Oh, Harry, Harry, you should'nt talk so. 

Harry. Then teach me to forget what I have seen, and what 
I know. 

Mrs. Tit. That's the way, forever talking about those drunken, 
ungrateful people. 

Harry. Very charitable indeed. 

Mr. Tit. Mr. Berkley we have done much for the paupers of 
England, but we get no thanks for it; they are a drunken set, 
without gratitude. 



Hi\ "fy. Gratitude ! And do you expect a reward in the shape 
■of gra. tude for what you have done ? What if those wretched 
creatures prayed for you, which is more probable than that they 
should cringingly acknowledge your benevolence, and which 
seems to be your conception of gratitude. But no, you do not work 
by the rule of duty, but that of motive. — " And you have done 
much for them." — Sir, have we not a pleasing illustration of 
your benevolence, in your manifested sympathy for the African, 
while you have at your own doors those who have greater claims 
on your sympathy ? 'Tis thus, sir, you are holding up your coun- 
try to the gaze of nations as a teacher of benevolence and huma- 
nity, while her precepts seem to struggle for utterance from the 
very depths of misery and degradation ; such misery and degrada- 
tion as our own metropolis alone can boast of. Think, sir, of the 
disgusting spectacle she will present in the eyes of those nations, 
knowing as they do that "example is belter than precept. 

Mr. Tit. That is all very well, my young friend, but your 
philanthropy is too limited, sir, too limited ; we have greater 
aims, and now that the poor down trodden African is crying to 
us for help, shall it be refused? No sir, he must be liberated. I 
have the plan that will do it . It is here. [Shows a paper.] 
Harry. And how will you do it? 
Mr. Tit. Flax, sir, flax. (*) 
Harry. Flax ? 

Mr. Tit. Yes sir, flax. Substitute flax for cotton, and their 
slaves will become worthless to them. 

Harry. [Aside] He is mad, perfectly mad. [Loud.] Well, 
sir, go on with your grand schemes, and while you cannot make 
the world forget that Englishmen were the first to establish sla- 
very on the American soil, you will show them that Ave are the 
last to aid the distressed on our own shores. i\.ye, and you will 
do more, you will sever the friendly ties that bind us to a power- 
ful nation whose aid we may one day ask only to be refused. 
Mr. Tit. Your language would do credit to a slave driver. 
Harry. [Sharply.] Sir, I am no canting hypocrite. 
Mr. Tit. Well, I have no more to say — may the Lord 
bring thee to love the cause of African freedom. But we must 
now go. Come friend Wilburton, the society meets this morn- 
ing, come, we have not a moment to lose. No rest until this 
mighty work is done. Oh! glorious contemplation! [Mr. Wil- 
burton, Mr. a7id Mrs. Titterwell prepare to go, Mrs. Wilburton 
accompanies them to the door.] 

Mr. Wilburton. [Passing near Harry.] Harry, I am shock- 
ed at you sir, shocked. 

Mrs. Tit. [Passing near Harry.] Mr. Berkley you are lost 
to humanity sir, lost. 

• See Appendix, No. 2. 
2 



10 

Harry. Ha? ha! There you go, would to God your enlhu- 
siam were enlisted in a better. cause. 

[Exit Mr. WLburton, Mr. and Mrs. Titierwell. 

Enter Minnie. 

Minnie. The woman has come sir, she is now in the next 
room. 

Harry. Thanks Minnie, you are a good girl — here, take this, 
[haiids her a piece of money,] that will do. 

[Minnie curtseys and exit, 

Mrs. Wilburton returns. 

Mrs. Wil. Oh ! Harry, I am grieved that you should talk as 
you have done. 

Harry. My dear aunt, I would not do aught to give thee pain, 
but you would not wish me to play the part of deception, and as- 
sume a character totally at variance with my feelings. 

Mrs. Wil. No, Harry, I would not, but it is your duty to feel, 
and even to weep over the wrongs of those poor creatures. 

Harry. Feel and weep ! And why should I? Is it because 
your amiable authoress takes Uncle Tom from his happy home 
in Kentucky, forces him through the most terrible trials, and final- 
ly, creates a demon in human form, whom she calls Legree — 
into whose hands she makes Uncle Tom fall, and by whom he 
is whipped to death. And must I acknowledge the brilliancy of 
her imagination by weeping over such a production? No, no. 

Mrs. Wil. But, Harry, this is no imagination, it is all true. 

Harry. True ! It does not wear the semblance of truth though 
it comes from an American. 

Mrs. Wil. She is an American, it is true, and if you will not 
believe in the truth of what she represents, you must at least give 
her credit for candor ; for while she exposes the sins of her coun- 
try, she holds up to them our own Canada to show them what 
their boast of liberty is worth. 

Harry. Aye! But is it not questionable patriotism ? And are 
not her motives clearly obvious? She caters to our English pre- 
judices; flatters our pride; her book finds a ready and rapid sale 
in our communities; the money for which proves a soothincr balm 
to her own conscience for the wound she has given her country. 
All this, my dear aunt, you will be better able to appreciate when 
you call to mind that it is but a few years since your own son — 
my dear cousin Henry, fell, while with his regiment, opposing 
the rebels, men who struck for liberty, in this same eulogized 
Canada. (*) 

Mrs. Wil. Yes, poor Henry. But Harry you know that that 
was a rebellion, and the poor misguided people were better off 
under our government, though they did not know it. 

• See Appendix, No. 3. 



11 

Harry. I believe it to be true, dear aunt, but while you assert 
this, you must grant to the Southern planter of America the same 
right to assert that his slaves are better off in their present condi- 
tion, and that we shall not interfere with them. 

Mrs. Wil. Poor Henry, [sobbiyig.] poor Henry. 

Harry. My dear aunt 1 see that in speaking of Henry I have 
touched the chords of grief But no more of this, 1 have a sub- 
ject to mention in which I know you will feel as deeply as 1 do 
myself This morning I met a destitute creature — a woman with 
a child in her possession — they were in a starving condition, and 
are now in this house, whither I sent them. 

Mrs. Wil. Harry you surprise me. 

Harry. Nay, dear aunt, it is all true. She has evidently seen 
better days, and 1 know you will pity her misery. 

Mrs. Wil. Who is she Harry, and what brought her to this 
condition? 

Harry. Her story is a bitter one, and its simplicity has satis- 
fied me of its truthfulness. But you will know more from her. 
And now, dear aunt, it is my earnest desire that she shall want for 
nothing. My means shall contribute to her comfort, and 1 only 
ask, that you will second my efforts: but 1 know you will, for 
you are good and kind. 

Mrs. WlL Oh ! Harry, I will, I will ; shall we go to her? 

Harry. No, no, I would not increase her misery by forcing 
her through an ordeal of scrutiny, from which her sensitive 
nature seems to shrink: I will call on the morrow, until then, 
farewell, dear aunt. [Going] But remember, be kind, be kind 
to her. [Exit Harry. 

Mrs. Wil. [Going.] Oh, Harry, you have a good heart, let 
them say what they will. [Exit Mrs. Wil. 

Scene IV. — A room in Mr. Wilburton^s house. 
E7iter Minnie, wiping her eyes. 

Minnie. I feel so disinconsolahle whenever I thinks about 
them dreadful 'mericans that master reads about. They used 
poor Uncle Tom so dreadful; it's a shame, so it is — but here 
comes Peter, Why Peter ! 

Enter Peter. 

Peter. Minnie, my charmer! My — 

Minnie. Oh, Peter, don't talk so, 1 don't feel like it— I'm in 
a paradoxeyism of grief, so I am. 

Peter. [Looking surprised.] Why Minnie you've been cry- 
ing! what's the matter — who hurt your feelings? 

^Minnie. [Sobbing.] Oh ! poor Uncle Tom. 

Peter. [Aside.] She crying about her uncle — it shows she 
got a good heart, so it does. [Loud.] Don't cry Minnie, don't 
cry. 



12 

Minnie. Oh, they used him so dreadful; they put great 
chains on him, dragged him to death. 

Peter. Who done it Minnie, who done it? Tell me and I'll 
revenge your uncle. 

Minnie. Oh, it was them dreadful Americans; they cut him 
all to pieces with great long whips, all just because he was a? 
black man, 

Peter. What! your uncle a black man ! 

Minnie. La! Peter, I did'nt say he was my uncle. 

Peter. 0-h! — Then what are you crying about? 

Minnie. Why Peter, mistress and master, and everybody cries 
when they reads about them wicked Americans and the poor in- 
nocent slavers; poor things, they aint got any edjercation, and 
never had none, and never herd tell on the Bible. Poor things; 
there are a heap of them too : there is Uncle Tom and Topsy and 
George Harris — Yes. and George Harris has got roygl blood in 
him, so he has, for the book says he " stood up like a rock, and 
put out his hand with the air of a prince." (*) And you know, 
Peter, if he had'nt royal blood in him he could'nt do that. 

Peter. [Uneasily] Yes, Minnie, but don't talk any more about 
them ; let us talk of 

Minnie. But Peter you'll be a commissionary and go there 
and save them, won't you Peter ? 

Peter. Oh, yes, I'll go and set them alt free — ^but Minnie let 
us talk of — [A bell rings] 

Minnie. Oh, there's mistress, I must run to her. [Going.]^: 
Good-bye Peter. 

Peter. Minnie 1 

Minnie. Good-bye Peter. [Exit Minnie. 

Peter. Well, confound them infernal niggers ; there she goes, 
and not one loving word. [Going.] Oh, cruel fate. 

[Exit Peter. 

* See Appendix, No. 4. 



3 



ACT II. 

Scene V. — The following day — A room in Mr. Wilburton's 
house. Mrs. Wilburton and Ma'^y employed at a table. Mary 
is neatly dressed. 

Mary, Oh, if I but knew that he lived, though he were far, 
far away. [Begins to iveep, a7id leaves the room.] 

Mrs. Wil. [Rising.] Poor woman ! she is so grateful, and 
speaks so kindly of Harry, and blesses him. She must have suf- 
fered much; and her brother, when she thinks of him, she weeps 
and is so unhappy. But here comes Harry. 

Enter Harry. 

Harry. Dear aunt ! 

Mrs. Wil. Ah ! Harry ; you have come to hear of Mary. 

Harry. I confess it, dear aunt ; but speak ; is she well — is 
she comfortable? 

Mrs. Wil. She is well, Harry; and has every thing she de- 
sires ; yet she is so unhappy. 

Harry. I do not wonder. But has she told you her name, 
or given ycu any of her early history? 

Mrs. Wil. She has. Her father died when she was young ; 
and her mother, it is nearly five years since her death. 

Harry. But her name ? 

Mrs. Wil. Is Mary Landen. 

Harry. Mary Landen ! Heavens, can it be ! Has she a 
brother ? 

Mrs. Wil. She has, or had one; but does not know where he 
is, or even that he lives. 

Harry. His name? 

Mrs. Wil. Is Morris Landen. 

Harry. The same ! My friend ! [Aside.] Merciful God ! 
and have I been instrumental in saving from further misery and 
degradation the sister of my dear friend ? 

Mrs. Wil. Harry, speak; do you know him ? 

Harry. Know him ? He was my truest and warmest friend. 
We were college mates together. 'Tis now more than five years 
since he left his native country. But yesterday I received a let- 
ter from him, the first since we parted ; and this very day he will 
be in London. 

Mrs. Wil. Oh, Harry ! Can this be true ? 

Harry. It is, dear aunt, all true. [Going.] I go to meet him. 
You will break the joyful tidings to Mary. But gently, dear 
aunt, gently. The hour he arrives will find them mingling 
their happy greetings. And now farewell, farewell. 

[Exit Harry. 



14 

Mrs. Wil. This is, indeed, wonderful. But an hour ago no 
ray of hope brightened the soul of her who wept for her brother; 
now, all is joy, joy ! [Going.] Oh, Harry ! you have taught 
me a lesson. You have taught me that I may find deserving 
objects of charity without seeking far for them. A lesson 1 shall 
not soon foiget. [Exit Mrs. Wil. 

Scene VI. — A Library. 
Enter Harry. 

Harry. 'Tis past the hour. The express from Liverpool 
has arrived, and still he does not come, liut he will come; I 
feel that he will; and bring to poor Mary the happiness she once 
knew. [A knock is heard.] 'Tis he! He comes! 

Enter Peter, and announces Morris. 

Enter Morris. 

Morris! 

Morris. Harry! [They embrace.] 

Harry. Welcome, Morris; welcome to your country, wel- 
come to your friends. 

Morris. Thanks, Harry; thanks for your kind welcome. 
But, pardon me Harry, and first tell me, do you know aught of 
my sister? 

Harry. I do, Morris. Your sister is now at the house of 
my uncle. 

Morris. Thank heaven ! But is she well ; is she happy ? 

Harry. She is well, Morris; and if she is not now happy, I 
can promise you that she soon will be, 

Morris. Thanks, again, Harry. I know, I feel that you 
have been her friend. But little claim have I to such an appel- 
lation, since I could seemingly forget you, my dear Harry, du- 
ring my long absence. 

Harry. ^Tis true, Morris, you have not written to me, nox 
have I heard from you since we parted, until yesterday; yet my 
friendship for you has ever been the same. 

Morris. I believe it, Harry, and for that reason must ever 
feel the sting of ingratitude. But when you know all, I feel that 
1 will be forgiven, and your generous nature will share its sym- 
pathies with me. 'Tis little more than five years since I left my 
native country, with bright hopes and alight heart. You knevi' 
my destination — the isles of Sunda. I reached them in safety; 
and to my anxious eyes the path to fortune seemed broad and 
clear. But, alas! my dazzling prospects were soon robbed of 
their splendor. A few weeks after my arrival I lay prostrate 
with fever. 'Twas at this time I heard of my mothpr's death. 
It added fresh misery to ray despairing soul, and for many weeks 
left but little hope of my recovery. Yet, slowly, I regained my 
health, though feeble in strength and broken in spirit 'Twas 
then I came to the determination never to reveal to my frieads a 



15 

knowledge of my situation, but to drag out the miserable exis- 
tence that seemed inevitable to me, unwept and unknown. But 
my sister I made many efforts to hear from, yet in vain. I sup- 
posed her dead. And thus I wandered from place to place, at 
length finding myself on the soil of Australia at the first disco- 
very of its glittering treasures. The rest is soon told — 1 labored 
in the mines; success smiled upon my efforts; my fortune was 
speedily made, when I hastened to my native country, to share it 
with my sister and my friends. 

Harry. Dear Morris, you have indeed run a career of vici- 
situdes, and I warmly congratulate you upon its happy termi- 
nation. 

Morris. Again I ihank you Harry. But tell me, are you 
not married ? 

Harry. Married, Morris ! No, no. 

Morris. Not married? This is strange, Harry. You who 
could find so much delight in woman's smiles, and seemed more 
than miserable when out of the sound of her voice. 

Harry. True, Morris; and you may readily suppose it was 
no slight cause that wrought a change. But hear me, and you 
shall learn all. Between friends there are no secrets. You 
know that I had ever asserted that in requited love alone existed 
the perfection of earthly bliss; and I deemed myself but too 
happy in finding, as I had supposed, a full realization of this in 
the plighted love of Emily Weston. Oh, Morris! how 1 loved 
this woman. I loved her from the first moment we met. She 
came upon my eyes like a vision of the beautiful ; a vision more 
of heaven than of earth. The measure of my happiness was 
full to overflowing. Our vows were interchanged. The happy 
day named. But alas! it was a promised joy that never came. 
One day during the great exhibition, while strolling through the 
Crystal Palace, scarce noting the ceaseless din around me, for my 
thoughts were on her [ loved better than life ; 'twas there I saw — 
Oh, God! would it had been a delusion — but I saw my Emily, 
my own betrothed, approaching me through the moving mass! 
a huge negro for an escort, she leaned languidly upon his arm ; 
his black visage wore a smile of exultation as he coarsely es- 
sayed to play the cavalier, and his horrid grins were met by 
the same smile that had so oft thrilled my soul with delight. 
Unobserved I crept to a pillar for support, and g;jzing about 
me, 1 saw the sneer of contempt, the smile of scorn, and the deep, 
calm look of disgust pictured on the countenances of those 
around; yet on she passed, regardless of it all, for the curse 

of fanaticism had done its work (*) and I, sickened with 

horror and disgust, hastened from the place. I never saw her 
more, Morris; I never saw her more! For the woman who 
could be so lost to truth and decency, as to violate the sacred 

* See Appendix, No. 6. 



16 

pledge of love, and degrade the dignity of her sex by pursuing 
a course so unnatural, deserves not the love of an honest heart. 

Morris. Truly, Harry, I can well imagine what a blow 
this was to affections as warm and as pure as thine. But think 
no more of it. You will yet find happiness in woman's love. 

Hatry. Never, Morris, never! 

Morris. Well, time alone will prove it. But no more of 
this. I see it is a painful subject. Come, we will now go to 
Mary, my dear, dear sister. 

Harry. [Going.] Yes, we wnli go this instant. [Aside] 
Oh, Mary ! I come to bring thee thy lost happiness, and with it 
a lost brother. [Exit Yiarry and Morris. 

Scene VIl. — A room in Mr. 'Wilburton^s house. Enter Mr. 
and Mrs. Wilburton. 

Mr. WzZ. My dear, lam astounded ; this is, indeed, a strange 
affair. Mary's father, William Landen, I knew well: a man 
respected and beloved, for his honesty and correctness. Yet still 
more am I astounded by Mary's disclosures in reference to her 
treatment by the Titterwells. But now that this knowledge has 
sharpened my perception, their characters are plain enough. And 
to render their hypocrisy conclusive to my mind, I have only to 
add to Mary's statements an incident that occurred yesterday : — 
While on our way to the meeting we were accosted by a misera- 
ble looking creature who begged a pittance: Titterwell deeming 
himself unobserved, with a smile of savage delight dashed aside 
the extended hand. I saw it all, and felt that from that time we 
could be friends no longer. 

Mrs. Wil. Yes, yes, Harry seems to have held this man in 
proper estimation ; and the woman, oh, I already have a horror 
of her. But here comes Mary. 

[Enter M&ry.) 

Mv.Wil. Ah, Mary! 

Mrs. Wil Dear Mary, we have just been speaking of the 
Titter wellfj. 

Mary. Titterwells! Oh, my dear friends, speak no more of 
them, their very names fill me with dread. 

Mr. Wil. Fear not, Mary, you will have no further cause to 
dread them. 

[Enter Minnie and announces Harry.] 

Enter Harry and Morris. 

liarry. Dear aunt and uncle — my friend Morris Landen. 

Mary. My brother ! 

Morris. My sister ! {Clasping her in his arms. A pause.) 
Dear Mary, my own lost one, have I found thee? Lookup, 
and let me gaze into those liquid orbs so like my mothf»r's. Yes, 
yes, the same dear, dear sister. 



17 

Mary. Oh, Morris ! I have waited long for thee ; watched 
ibr thee ; wept for thee ; prayed for thee ; and now you will not 
leave me more ? 

Moms, Leave thee! never, never again dear Mary. But 
calm thyself; am I not near thee ? 

Mary. Look, Morris. (Points to 'Harry.) 'Tis he and 
those good people to whom I am indebted for this happiness. 

Morris. Ah, Harry ! I knew, I felt that you had been her 
friend. How shall I ever repay you ? 

Harry. Morris, I have done naught to give me a claim upon 
your gratitude. 

Moms. Noble heart ! but your uncle and aunt — their kind- 
ness 

Mr. Wil. No thanks, sir, no thanks. That smile of happi- 
ness on Mary's cheek is more than compensation for all we have 
done. 

Mrs. Wil. Sir, it is to Harry you owe 

Harry. Nay, dear aunt 

Enter Minnie, aiid announces the Titterwells. 

[Exit Minnie. 
Mary. "] 

mT^H I 'rhe Titterwells! 
Mrs. Wil. J 

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Titter well. 

Mr. Tit. [Aside.) We are sure of a hundred pounds from 
him. 

Mrs. Tit. My dear Mrs. Wilhurton ! {She is received coldly.) 

Mr. Tit. Ah, friend Wilhurton ! meditating some scheme of 
benevolence as usual ? Generous man I The absence of your 
most desirable presence from the meeting last evening was keen- 
ly felt by the society. 

Mr. WiZ. {Coldly.) Ah, indeed! 

Mr. Tit. Most assuredly, friend Wilhurton. And the nume- 
rous brotherly inquiries made for you gives undoubted evidence 
of your o-rowing popularity and influence with the society. 

Mr. Wil. {Aside.) Disgusting flattery. But he has some 
aim. 

Mr. Tit. And I have come, friend Wilhurton, on purpose to 
inform you of what we have done. Among other business trans- 
acted, we determined to raise the sum of five thousand pounds to 
aid the authoress of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," who is at this time 
in a most melancholy state of distress and want, brought to it by 
the persecutions of her countrymen. (*) We have also deter- 
mined to raise nn additional sum for the translation of '' Uncle 

* See Appendix, No. 6. 
3 



18 

Tom's Cabin" into the various languages ofEurope, this being the 
most efft'Ctual way of accomplishing our purpose; that purpose, I 
need not coricenl from you, is to destroy the naiionality of that 
country. 'J'his booi< will contribute largrly lothat end. It will 
secure Europenn hatred. Being American giv»sita plnusibiliiy 
of truth. You understand me. And now, fri* nd Wiiburton,! 
hold in my hand [shows a paper) a list for subscriptions to those 
funis. You will. 1 feel confident, subscribe liberally. 

Mr. V^il. Then, I unders and, sir, that your avowed object 
is to destroy the nationality of a nation to whose g( nero?ity Nve 
owe the lives of thousands of human bMiiys who were starving 
in another portion of our kingdom. And this, sir, ycu would 
do under the garb of benevolence? And I am asked to aid in 
it! No, sir; not one penny. And now, Mr. 'ruterwell, it be- 
comes my duty to inform you that I am no longer a member of 
the society to which you belong, and, furthermore, that from this 
instant our friendship ceases. Look you, sir, [points to Mary.} 
do you know that woman? 

Mr. Tit. Mary Linden! 

Mary. [Advancing.] Aye, Mary Landen. Do you know 
me? 

Mrs. Ti^. (Aside.) Mary Landrn ! She here! This very 
morninir 1 heard her brother had arrived in London, a v/ealihy 
man. I must play my part. [Loud, draioing near to Mary.) 
Dear Mary! 

"M-ary. Away! away from me! 

Mrs." T^^. [Aside.) Spurned! [Loud.) But, Mary, you 
will not forget me? 

Mary. Foiget thee! Never, while this poor heart wears the 
blight of desolation you brought upon it. But, go; and your 
guilty conscience will be its own accuser until you find atone- 
ment for your cruelties, in alleviating the sufferings of those you 
have injured. Go, go. 

Mrss. Tit. I do not understand you, dear Mary. You kno^v 
I have alwavs felt as a mother towards you. 

Mary. No, more; no, more. Go. [Turns from her.) 

Morris. [Aside to Warry) Harry, who is this man? 

Viarry. His mme is Titterwell. A vile hypocrite, with 51 
heart as hlacU as the cause he advocates. 

Mr. Tit [Aside) I see it all. This woman ha? ruined us. 
(Loud.) Mr. Wiiburton. an explanation of this affair 1 deem 
unnecessary; you are sold to the slave interest 

Mr. Wit. Sir; another insinuation of that kind and you an- 
swer it in another way. But, sir, leave my house; leave my 
house. 

Mrs. Ti/. (Aside.) Oh! I shall choke with rage! 

Mr. Tit. Well, sir, I go; but may the Lord bring thee to 
again love the cause of African freedom. 



19 

Harry. (Sneeringlp) What! Titterwell leaving us so soon? 
Oh, glorious contemplaiion ! 

Mr. Tit. {Going.) Curse, ye! curse, ye! 

[Exit Mr. and Mrs. Titlerwell, 

Mary. Gone, Oh happy riddance! 

Mr. WiL Yes. ihfy nre gone, and I breathe freer; the very 
atmosphere seerns rf-lievidof a pestilfnce. And now, Harry, 
thar you hive tiughtus that our first duty is to nliive those 
around us, and how mu<h true happiness ntay be f und in the 
simple pcrforni-mce of that duty, I only crave that you and our 
kiud friends will permit the future to answer our appreciation of 
that k'sson. 

THE END. 



APPENDIX. 



Note Xstf page 6. 

In an article taken from a late English paper, and recently 
published in those of this country, it appears that a young woman 
in a delicate situation was found in the streets of London without 
shelter and without food. Upon enquiry it was ascertained that 
she had been discharged but a few days before from one of the 
work-houses, and finding none to pity her misery, applied several 
times to be again admitted, but was denied by the inhuman ma- 
nagers because she had been once discharged. 

Note 2dj page 9. 

It is firmly believed by many individuals in England, that with 
proper cultivation, flax will yet supersede the use of cotton. The 
writer of this, while in London not long since, met with one of 
those visionary philanthropists who asserted with the air of a 
prophet that " the day was not far distant when the world would 
behold its accomplishment;" at the same time inviting him to vi- 
sit the rooms of the society to see the great progress making to- 
wards that end. 

Note Sd, page 10. 
The rebellion in Canada in 1839. 

Note ith, page 12. 

Mrs. Stowe uses this identical language in her splendid de- 
scription of a runaway negro. 

Note 5th, page 15. 

Americans who visited London during the holding of the 
World's Fair, too well remember those disgusting exhibitions. 

Note 6th, page 17. 

Late English papers state that persons have been traveling 
through England making collections to aid the authoress of 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin," who is represented to be in a state of ex- 
treme destitution, struggling against the persecutions of her coun- 
trymen. 



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